The Light of Sons
by Miss Aranel
Summary: After draining much of her spirit in childbirth, Legolas's mother must decide between renewal in Aman or remaining in Middle-Earth with her family. Clean. FINISHED!
1. Brittle Tears

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: As this is my first fanfic, I am a bit inexperienced with display, editing, identifying terms, etc. Please forgive me as I adjust..  
  
Also, since no one is sure of Legolas's actual birth date, I have taken the liberty of moving it forward.  
  
I have not included author's notes within or at the end of the chapter. If you have questions on anything within my fic, please feel free to post them in a review or send an email. Because chapters have been pre-written, this fic will be updated at least weekly (depending on response).  
  
Rated for angst---this will not extend throughout the whole fic.  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
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Chapter 1~*~Brittle Tears  
  
Thilómë had risen early, just as the sun's first beams brightened the edges of the clouds. She slid lightly from the bed, wrapping herself in a silky dressing gown before sitting in front of a large mirror on the wall. Picking up a brush, she passed it through her silvery locks, combing the long strands with her fingers.  
  
"Good morning, love." Thilómë looked up from a handful of hair to the mirror, where she saw her husband's reflection behind her own. He leaned down, placing his hands on her shoulders. Smiling, she turned her face to kiss him quickly, "Good morning."  
  
Her husband ran his hands over her head before turning to get ready for the day. Thilómë returned to brushing her hair, listening as he searched a wardrobe for something to wear. Setting her brush down, she sighed, "Thranduil..?"  
  
"Yes, love?" he was searching through a pile of folded clothing.  
  
"Do you happen to recall a certain night a few weeks ago, the one after the Dorwinion arrived?" Thilómë got up from her chair.  
  
A pleased smile spread over Thranduil's face, "I believe I do."  
  
Thilómë pressed her fingers together, "I'm afraid something has come of it."  
  
"Come of it?" Thranduil raised his eyebrows, the smile fading.  
  
"Yes," Thilómë lifted her eyes to look at him, "As I recall, it has been Dorwinion every time this has happened."  
  
Thranduil quickly set down the tunic he was holding to embrace his wife. He pushed a few long strands of silver hair behind her ear and met her worried gaze, "Everything will be all right. We will be very, very careful this time. Everything I will do that is in my power.."  
  
"..I don't know if there is enough of me left," Thilómë raised a hand to wipe away a river of tears from her eyes.  
  
"Shh," Thranduil pressed his fingers to her lips, "There will be enough. We have one strong son, and the other was not meant to be, though a great part of your spirit was consumed in his bearing. Surely now we will have a daughter, and she will have much time to build upon the little bit that you are able to give to her."  
  
Thilómë nodded, letting her husband wipe the last of her tears away with the edge of his sleeve. Yes, Eru must have purposed a daughter. A daughter would not consume as much of her spirit as another son, and would wait as her portion grew stronger.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
How long ago had it been since she had borne her first son? Nearly two hundred years. Her thoughts drifted back to the day, early in the spring when all new life seemed to surge forth. Mirkwood had still been Greenwood the Great then, and her spirit had been strong and light. The year of waiting had come to an end, and now began the long process of travail.  
  
The painful hours had been more than worth it though. She was tired, and could feel her spirit waning a little, but the sight of her new son filled her with joy. In his eyes she saw the keen sparkle of the elven race, and his grip around her finger was eager. In the years that followed, he had grown tall, fair, and strong. He had become experienced with the bow, and with more years his skill would be unmatched. He had followed his father as an elfling, learning the ways of the wood, the speech of trees and grass and even stones. Yes, he was very strong. Her spirit had done well in him.  
  
But then there had been her other son, not even a hundred years ago. This time, her pregnancy seemed to weigh harder on her, pressing her months before the child was to arrive. When the end of the year had come, the labor stretched on for days. It had been another spring morning, bright, when the delivery finally began. The room had been full of healers by then, and her husband had entered. Things swirled around her head as the pain worsened, and she caught the smell of athelas in the air. Worried, the healers pressed her to give more of her strength to the child. Her light seemed to be draining, draining out of her and into this baby.  
  
"Just a little more," Thranduil had coaxed, and she gave it, gave it like the air seeping from her lungs.  
  
The healers begged for more. She gave it like water from a spring, gushing, spurting, trickling..still they begged, pleaded. With every breath she forced it into the child, her own strength, her very life force.  
  
"She has no more to give!" Thranduil had grown impatient after many hours, when she had been barely breathing. A few more minutes, and they had placed a swaddled bundle in his arms. Lifting a fold of cloth, he had bent down to show her the baby. With her last breaths before darkness, she had seen the perfect little face, its color fading fast. The tiny blue eyes held a faint glimmer for a second, then fell, and Thranduil had folded the cloth over again.  
  
When she woke, she was too weak to cry. The tears came much later, and did not stop for many, many days.  
  
They returned now, as she felt again the life begin to stir within her. Eru and all the Valar could not possibly will her to endure it again. There was so little, so very little, of her spirit left to give, and she wished not to spend it on brittle tears. 


	2. Passing Light

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Again, there are no author's notes within or at the end of the chapter. All questions can be posted or emailed----I haven't bothered to include all my Tolkien references.  
  
Rated for angst----this will not extend throughout the whole fic.  
  
Thank you to Bean02 and Queen of Shadows for posting reviews, your comments are happily appreciated!  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
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Chapter 2~*~Passing Light  
  
Over the next year, Thilómë's abdomen grew along with her concerns. She lay in bed this morning, yet another spring morning, her hands resting on the bulge beneath her light cotton shift. Woken by the sun streaming in through a narrow window carved into the living stone of their cavernous palace, Thranduil lifted his head to look at his wife. Managing a smile, he took her hand in his own, placing them both flat on her stomach.  
  
"Do you feel it?" Thilómë turned to him with a weak smile, her eyes wet.  
  
Thranduil nodded, "Yes." The mild tremors from the baby's turning were quite distinct to his sensitive touch. Leaving his hand in place, he waited, concentrating. After a moment he detected a light, vibrating rhythm- their child's infant heart.  
  
Thilómë was tiring. As the birth date drew nearer, her body and spirit felt more and more strained. The baby moved, but not as her first son had. She could feel this child shift and turn, but there were very few kicks. It seemed almost that the child was weary with her. She let Thranduil help her from the bed, then slowly dressed and made her way to one of the nearby halls for breakfast.  
  
When his mother entered, the son of Thranduil and Thilómë looked up sharply. His mother seemed to be fading, shadowing as the baby's arrival drew closer. He thought back to when his brother had come...Linnin...Tearpool. Never had he seen something more heart wrenching. It was bad enough to see an adult elf, with many years behind him, dying from an unhealable battle wound. The sight of his weeping father, the limp bundle in his arms, had been too much. His mother had awoken, weak and tired, days later, only to soak too many cloths with her tears. Yes, Linnin. A sorrowful pool he was, and never full.  
  
It worried him when his mother came to him, taking his hands and placing them on her belly. "I want you to feel it," she said, keeping his slender hands in place with her own. He knew why. If things happened as they had before, this would be the only life he ever felt from his sibling. His mother did not wish for him to miss it.  
  
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It was that very afternoon that the pain started. The healers had helped Thilómë to a bed, and set a bowl of hot water and sweet herbs near her head. Over the next day, the pain came in slow surges, sweeping over her. She felt its ache through out her whole body, some times tensing, and other times dully dragging and throbbing. The healers wiped her face with cool clothes dipped in the water of the Forest River. Thranduil gazed at her tired form, wondering if he should have sent for the Lord Elrond. When he had contemplated it earlier, he had thought against it. Thilómë would have surely gotten upset. Lord Elrond had married Lady Celebrían, Celebrían who had borne him two sons, twins, without much of a problem. Celebrían, who bore her husband a daughter called Undómiel, said to be as beautiful as Lúthien Tinúviel.  
  
Now he regretted his decision. Surely the Lord of Imladris would have at least dulled the birthing pains more effectively, if nothing else. Thranduil breathed deeply, dealing with the realization that he could very well not only lose another child, but his beloved wife and queen as well.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted as Thilómë clenched her teeth through one of the first pangs of delivery. Unable to stay away, he smoothed another wet cloth over her forehead, whispering the only words of comfort he could find, "Shhh, beloved. All will be well soon, peace is coming." He watched as her eyes opened slowly, for they had closed for the pain. They winced shut again as another wave of pain overtook her.  
  
Thranduil looked over to one of the healers in the room, "How is the baby?"  
  
"It is coming," the healer, an elf-maid, dipped her hands in a basin of water. Her eyes looked grieved, "I feel though, that it is very weak. Has my queen much light to spare?"  
  
"Only a little," Thranduil looked into the dully sparkling eyes of his wife.  
  
Between pains, Thilómë took a labored breath and looked up at her husband, "I will give the rest of myself to this child, if I must. It is..."  
  
"No!" Thranduil interrupted her, then calmed, "No, beloved. Keep enough of your spirit. You have not yet lived a full life, though it has been many years."  
  
Thilómë felt not only the pain of her body, but the dwindling of her life force as she let the little bit that she had left to spare go into her child. She felt Thranduil's hand take her own, and the caress of his fingers on her face. As another deep wave went over her, she felt everything leave her and Thranduil's grip around her hand tighten.  
  
A cry, not one of her own, pierced the pain in her head. She opened her aching eyes just as one of the healers announced, "A son, my King Thranduil." A son? How had there been enough light for a son? Thranduil slowly released his wife's hand and walked to the healer, taking the folds of green cloth from her. Stepping back to Thilómë, he pushed back the fabric over his son's face, half-expecting to see the same instant fading as before.  
  
Thilómë gazed into the tiny face before her. The baby was a weak, pale color, and his eyes held only a faint sparkle. She closed her eyes, again too weak for tears, whispering, "I'm sorry...I had so little light left."  
  
Thranduil stared into the eyes of this new son. They had not yet faded, but were tragically insipid. Wrapping the blankets closer around the body, he placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "We will name him Legolas, Greenleaf, for though he will soon fade, he shall have life at least a little while." 


	3. Stay

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: As before, there are no author's notes within or at the end of the chapter.  
  
FYI: "las", a word part that makes up part of Legolas's name, can actually be translated two ways: "leaf" and "ears" (and yes, both have been used in elven names!)  
  
Rated for angst----this is over, for the most part.  
  
Thank you to Daw, Galadriel Lorien, and Queen of Shadows for their reviews! It's always nice to know what people think of my writing!  
  
Daw (in her review) is completely correct about the conception/birthing situation being canonical. I'm trying to keep my fic as in tune with Tolkien's writings as possible. Unfortunately, I don't have a copy of "Laws and Customs of the Eldar" to refer to, which has a pretty good discussion on Elven pregnancy and childbirth. Regretfully, I have never read this piece in full...If anyone is wondering whether a concept is mine or Tolkien's, feel free to post or email questions.  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
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Chapter 3~*~Stay  
  
Thranduil stood back watching as a healer washed his newborn son, and then swaddled the tiny body in soft, clean blankets. She placed the baby in his arms, glancing up at him, "I don't know how long his light will last...he is very weak."  
  
Taking his son, Thranduil headed out of the room. Thilómë had fallen into an exhausted sleep soon after the delivery was over, and it would be best to leave her in peace. He walked slowly towards a lighted room down the corridor. He wanted to savor the brief moments, be they minutes or hours, of this son's life in silence.  
  
"Ada!" Thranduil looked up from the baby to see his older son, Aldandil, coming towards him. The young elf quickened his pace, touching his father's arm softly.  
  
Seeing the concerned look in Aldandil's eyes, Thranduil turned the baby towards him, "The healers believe his light will be very brief. We've named him Legolas."  
  
"Legolas," Aldandil let the syllables slide off his tongue. The hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, "Green-ears. Now, is it really both ears, or just one?" He touched the tender points of this new brother's minute ears.  
  
Thranduil was not amused at the joke, and dismissed it, blaming Aldandil's short years, "It is Greenleaf, not Green-ears."  
  
Aldandil watched his father carry the baby into a side room. He had only meant to humor his father a little, to cheer up the dire situation. Sighing, he sank into a sitting position against the wall, resting his elbows on his knees.  
  
Thranduil pulled a chair out for himself, thankful that the room was empty, save for its furnishings and the soothing glimmer of torchlight. He looked again to the newborn in his arms. Legolas had closed his eyes, and was breathing softly. At least he would not have to see the grey-blue eyes lose their dim shine. He listened to the shallow breath of his son, and in the quiet room, could detect even the faint heartbeat he had felt only a little over a day ago.  
  
The sounds were soothing to Thranduil's sorrowing spirit, and he kept his attention fixed on them.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thranduil woke with a start. Had he simply nodded off? No, the torch in the room was extinguished, and a pale beam of sunlight crossed the floor through a slit in the stone wall. His thoughts flashed quickly to the body in his arms. In his panic, he realized that the infant was still breathing softly. Not only that, but his draping sleeves were rather damp.  
  
Standing, Thranduil held the wet blanketed bundle out in front of him. He couldn't help but smile weakly, "So, Legolas, you have decided to give us all at least one act to remember you by then, hmm?"  
  
A slightly amused healer took the baby from him when he entered his wife's room. Leaving his damp outer-robe near the door, Thranduil went to Thilómë's bed. She was still in a restless sleep, and would probably not awaken fully for a few more days. Her husband touched her silver hair, and bent to kiss her forehead. His heart ached as he thought of the little light left in her. He thought back to the earlier years of their marriage...how full of love for life she was! Every tree, every flower seemed to enthrall her. How many hours had they spent in the woods together, sharing in its peaceful beauty? Thranduil sighed, stroking Thilómë's cool fingers. How he longed for another walk beneath the treetops, beneath the stars, with her in his arms.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
When Aldandil entered his mother's room, he was surprised to be met by a healer at the door. The elf-maid touched his arm lightly, then carefully handed him his brother, enfolded in clean white blankets. The baby seemed to have no weight at all! He stared down at the pale face; the tiny, limp fingers; the head no bigger than his fist. Why did they trust him to hold something so fragile and precious? Aldandil glanced towards his mother and father, then back to his brother. Legolas. The baby's mouth opened in a yawn, and his tiny blue eyes fluttered open. Aldandil watched this searchingly, and felt his heart beat twice. The gleam in his brother's eyes had not changed, and still flickered softly.  
  
"I believe you may surprise us all," Aldandil smiled, touching Legolas's uncurled fingers, "Stay." 


	4. Weak and Weary

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you to Juda and "smiley face" for your reviews on Chapter 3. I really do enjoy reading everyone's comments...and it does give me that little push to dish up another chapter!  
  
I know that this chapter is short...I'm hoping to upload Chapter 5 later tonight or tomorrow.  
  
Rated for angst----this is over, for the most part. (Probably could have passed for PG.)  
  
Thank you for reading! As always, any questions are welcome!  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
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Chapter 4~*~Weak and Weary  
  
It felt bitingly cold and yet unbearably humid. And it was dark. Not a single star. Where were they? Thilómë raised a hand to pick away the hair sticking to her neck, only to feel strong, smooth fingers grasp around her own.  
  
She struggled to open her eyes. Her eyelids seemed so heavy, and it took so much effort. It would have been so much easier just to stay in the dark. She strained against the dull ache around her eyes. At first everything came in a blur: the sites, the sounds, the memories...what had she been doing when she drifted off? And where was she?  
  
"Thilómë." She felt her fingers squeezed tighter, and the face of her husband came into focus. Immediately everything surged back: the pain, the weariness, the brief glance at her fading newborn son.  
  
Closing her eyes again, Thilómë exhaled in a low, mournful moan. Thranduil cupped her clammy chin in his hand, concerned, "Are you in pain? What's the matter?"  
  
"The baby!" the words came softly, but full of sorrow. Thilómë turned her face from her husband in remorse. She had lost not one, but two children. Precious treasures of the Elven race, and she had not enough spirit to keep them. Why was Eru Ilúvatar so swift to reclaim his gifts? The tears that had not come earlier began to pool beneath her eyes, and trickled down her cheeks, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."  
  
"Shhh," Thranduil turned her face back towards himself, and gently dabbed the tears away with the edge of the bed sheet. Thilómë forced her eyes open again, and her husband's face looked calm and serene, comforting. Before she could wonder why he wasn't grieving, he spoke again, "Look."  
  
With that, Thranduil lifted something carefully from beside the bed, bringing it into her field of vision.  
  
The feeling in her heart was too great for words. It seemed as though all the green things of spring had suddenly taken root there and burst into full bloom. The warmth of the Sun glowed there, and all the waves of the Sea washed her misery away.  
  
"Let me see him," Thilómë slowly pushed herself up against the pillows and held out her unsteady hands.  
  
Thranduil lowered the infant into her arms. The look on his wife's face was wonderful; she was nearly glowing with joy. After four days of waiting for her to wake up, he was glad he had been so near when she finally opened her eyes.  
  
"He's beautiful," Thilómë stared down at their son.  
  
Thranduil smiled, putting an arm around her shoulders and unwrapping the blankets around the baby with his free hand, "He has all his fingers and toes, just like all little elflings...not much hair though." Thilómë nearly laughed, and he kissed her briefly.  
  
It would be difficult to tell her what the healers had said. Perhaps it would be better to wait, and let her savor these first moments. Thranduil massaged his wife's shoulder, drifting into deep thought. Thilómë was so weak now, and it might not be good to give her something to worry about. She needed rest, real rest, peaceful and unhindered. And yet...would it be right not to tell her?  
  
"Thilómë..." Thranduil started hesitantly, "There's something I must tell you..."  
  
"What is it?" Thilómë looked towards him with surprise in her eyes. Her eyes...they held such a sparkle now, and yet seemed so weary.  
  
Thranduil drew in a breath of air, and found it difficult to meet her gaze, "They, the healers, say that his spirit is weak, weaker than they have seen a baby before." Seeing the alarmed look in Thilómë's eyes and the way she suddenly pulled the baby to herself, Thranduil quickly put in, "He will live. But it will take many years for his spirit to grow and strengthen. And it will have its effects."  
  
Thilómë looked down at her son again. She traced a finger across the perfect little face. Smiling wanly, she glanced up at Thranduil again, "It is enough to hold him, to know that he will still be here to hold tomorrow, and the days after that." 


	5. Starry Night

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: This is a nice long chapter. The few Sindarin phrases in it are translated here. Because I have used mainly Grey Company Elvish (which I hear is a wretched source), some of the phrases may be very poor translations. If anyone knows of a reliable phrase source, please let me know!  
  
Quel du = Good night  
  
Losto mae = Sleep well  
  
Amin mela lle = I love you  
  
Um muindor = evil brother  
  
Naneth/Nana = Mother/Mama, Mommy, Mom  
  
Adar/Ada = Father/Daddy, Dad  
  
FYI: It took Tolkien's Elves between 50 and 100 years to reach maturity.  
  
Also, for the sake of Legolas's adoring fan girls, I have left his hair blond.  
  
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Rated for angst----this is over, for the most part. (Could probably be PG.)  
  
Thank you so much to Dragon-of-the-north, Galadriel Lorien, and Queen of Shadows for reviewing my last chapter. (Queen, the answer to your question is in this chapter!) You may all love my story, but I am loving your reviews! If anyone else has been reading, but hasn't been reviewing, I'd love to hear from you too!  
  
Thank you again for reading! I hope everyone's been enjoying themselves.  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
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Chapter 5~*~Starry Night  
  
"Ai!" Legolas shrieked, "Don't drop me!"  
  
Aldandil cringed, catching his younger brother securely. The elfling's shrieks were one of the few things about Legolas that truly pained him. "No screeching," Aldandil looked his brother in the eye, "Naneth says it sounds as though you're calling for Mandos himself, and we can't have him coming for you!" Lightly he tossed Legolas into the air again, receiving more cries and giggles for his actions.  
  
Over the past few years, Legolas had grown...slowly. Aldandil tipped his brother forward, letting the little elfling's long light blond hair graze the floor. Like almost any young child, Legolas found it exhilarating to be tossed into the air and tipped upside-down...as long as he found himself in his brother's strong hands. Aldandil laughed lightly as he swooped Legolas back up, "Too much of that and your head will swim. We'd better find Naneth; she'll be looking for her little Green-ears."  
  
"My ears aren't green," Legolas lifted his fingers to touch his ears anyway. Aldandil's nickname for him was an old joke now, used lightheartedly by the whole family.  
  
"Oh, they aren't? You're so caked with dirt, I'd swear that by now there should be grass growing on them," Aldandil raised his eyebrows, walking down the hallway with his brother in his arms. How long had he been carrying Legolas around like this? Ever since the healer had first trusted him to hold him. Still, Legolas had learned to walk at least four years ago, and could get along perfectly fine on his own two feet. Not that it made much difference..he was still so small and light. Aldandil looked down at his brother, who was now amusing himself with humming and writing imaginary Tengwar on his shoulder. Aldandil smiled wryly. Legolas was probably spelling something like "um muindor".  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thilómë lifted her little son out of the bath, wrapping him in a towel. She knew he was nearly weightless, but in her arms the child seemed heavy. Sitting him on her lap, she wiped water out of his ears and face, "All clean now. Much better."  
  
Legolas shivered, snuggling into the folds of his towel. The cool air that dominated the cavernous palace licked at his bare, wet toes.  
  
"Cold now, are we?" Thilómë picked up a long nightshirt and pulled it over her son's head. It worried her that Legolas could sense the cold so easily, but it was only one of many things that concerned her. She swept the thought from her mind, "What are you going to do if you happen across snow, little one?"  
  
"I'll melt it all," Legolas slid from his mother's lap, pulling the nightshirt down around his knees.  
  
"With what?" Thilómë laughed, toweling the elfling's hair. While Aldandil had inherited her own silver strands, Legolas had a head of light blond wisps. And such pale skin! Why, he hadn't darkened a shade since the day he was born. A shade that light couldn't be right. The old familiar worries started seeping in again, topped by the biggest one of all: When would his spirit start to strengthen? Not these little increases here and there, but a good, long rush? Thilómë was glad, so very glad, to have her little son with her, but she wanted to see him grow taller and stronger. He was wonderful, yes, but so small and tired. He slept so much, and it was difficult to get him interested in his food. After a good game of chase, the poor little thing would collapse, exhausted. How many times had she found him sitting in a patch of sunlight, when he should have been running in the grass? And those listless looks he had in the mornings----it seemed to take forever to wake him up. By the time Aldandil had been this age, he was not only bigger, but he had so much more energy! Thilómë remembered chasing the elfling all over the woods and palace, hardly able to coax him to sit on her lap more than a minute. There were numerous "hunts" for orcs and spiders, piles of mud-splattered and grass-stained clothing, early morning greetings which involved being pounced upon, and the worries that Aldandil would get himself hurt, lost, or into some kind of trouble. And here was Legolas...quiet, passive, faint. He was sharp, of course, and enjoyed a good deal of things, but still...  
  
"I don't know," Legolas's nonchalant answer dragged Thilómë from her thoughts, and she noticed his eyes shifting in and out of focus.  
  
"Sleepy now too!" she exclaimed, quickly combing his hair, and then taking his hand, should he happen to drift off to sleep on the way to his room.  
  
Legolas blinked his eyes a few times in an effort to stay awake, "I'm not sleepy, Nana." his protest dwindled into a mumble, and he tripped along beside his mother. Thilómë guided her sleeping child to his bed, and then pulled the richly embroidered quilts over him. "Quel du," she whispered, kissing his forehead, "Amin mela lle."  
  
"Amin mela lle, Nana," a little voice mumbled.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Legolas blinked, sitting up. Where was he? Hmm, in bed yet again. He really had to figure out how to stop falling asleep in the middle of things.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"Nana? Ada?" Thilómë and Thranduil were surprised when Legolas wandered into their room. Usually he was so exhausted he slept straight through the night...and right into the morning.  
  
"What are you doing up so late?" Thranduil walked over to his younger son, scooping the elfling up, "We'd better get you back to your bed."  
  
"I want to see the stars, Ada," Legolas settled into his father's arms, pointing towards the window.  
  
Thranduil stepped to the window, glancing out, "Well, there they are. There's Gil-Estel, Eärendil's star. See? He's in his big boat, Vingilot, sailing with the Silmaril. 'Quel du, Legolas', he says, 'Losto mae'." Thranduil smiled at Legolas's amused look and carried him towards the door.  
  
"Ada, I want to see them again! Show me Eärendil!" Legolas strained towards the window again.  
  
Placing a hand on his son's back, Thranduil laughed, "All right." He looked towards Thilómë, who had been watching the two with interest, "Come with us, we'll walk under the stars tonight."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"Look, Legolas, there is Menelvagor, with his big sword," Aldandil pointed towards a group of stars.  
  
Legolas sat on his mother's lap wrapped in a blanket, "What does he need a sword for up there?"  
  
"Oh, for lots of things," Thranduil ruffled the elfling's hair, "And there is Eärendil. What would you think of riding in a big ship in the sky?"  
  
"Yes!" Legolas exclaimed, imagining Eärendil sailing his ship through the starry depths, "I would go with him!"  
  
Thilómë smiled softly, "But Legolas, after Eärendil left, he could never come back here."  
  
"Oh," Legolas looked up at the star again as he ran his fingers through the grass, "Then I would stay here. I would miss the trees, and the green things." He tried to fight a yawn, but it came anyway. He drifted on, more and more softly, "And you, Nana...and Ada, and Aldandil...and...and..." and he was fast asleep. 


	6. Sparkles at Dusk

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you to Esgalromen, Melodie, and EMerald Queen for your lovely reviews on Chapter 5. Reviews are truly one of the best parts of writing fan-fiction!  
  
EMerald Queen: You poor kid! Never getting to see the stars! I live in the woods, so I see them every night...also, I'm aware that "Legolas" is correctly translated "Greenleaf". "Green-ears" is just his brother's joke...sort of like calling "Brittney" "Bratt-ney".  
  
The only Sindarin word used in this chapter is "glî", which means "honey". I'm not sure if Tolkien's Elves would have used it in the same context as I have, but you never know!  
  
Also, Tolkien doesn't say if there was dancing or not...I like to think there was!  
  
My next update probably won't be until this weekend..I have a long week ahead of me.  
  
Rated for angst, this is over for the most part. If ratings went by chapters, this one would be "G".  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Chapter 6---Sparkles at Dusk  
  
Thilómë worked her fingers through her hair, separating out a section to plait. Working in front of the mirror, she studied her reflection for a moment. Had she always looked so tired? Sighing, she started the braid. She certainly felt tired; she had for a long time. It wasn't a weak feeling, really. No, it was a drained feeling. She had figured that and much more out long ago. The problem was how to rid herself of it.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thranduil hummed as he pulled a dark green robe out of the wardrobe. How he loved Fall Feasting! Night after night of food, song, and dance in the forest or upper halls! Why, this very day he'd ridden out with a hunting party in search of game to roast over a blazing fire. The thoughts of juicy venison and partridge---not to mention wine---nearly made him dizzy. Pulling the robe on, he turned and caught sight of something else that made him feel just as lightheaded.  
  
"You look like a star dropped from the heavens," Thranduil stepped over to his wife, taking in the sight before kissing her. Thilómë had so many jewels pinned into the silver braids piled around her head that she seemed to sparkle. Emeralds---his favorite. They hung around her neck and across her forehead. And---mmm! The smell of the tender white blooms woven into her hair was sweeter than any perfume she had ever worn. Thranduil bent to kiss her again, "Can you still dance with so many gems on your person?"  
  
Thilómë gave him a wry smile, "Of course I can." She wondered to herself, though, how long she'd be able to keep it up tonight.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Legolas sat on the grass, picking flowers and leaves out of his little circlet. He didn't like having the thing on his head, but every time he pulled it off, his mother shoved it back on. "Legolas, glî, eat your food," she adjusted it yet again, then handed him his plate.  
  
Just then his father waltzed by, taking his mother's hand, "Come, love, and dance with me!" Off they glided, clapping in time with the song in the air.  
  
Legolas ignored his food and looked around. So many people! The whole clearing was full of them, clapping and singing, playing harps, eating and talking, dancing and laughing. And the fires! They blazed warm and friendly, and the little lights the people carried twinkled in the night. There was his mother, her whole head sparkling, and his father, the jewels on his robes catching the lights with a gleam, a garland of scarlet leaves twined around his head. Aldandil, too, was dancing, flitting between the people, a blur of silver and green glints.  
  
Well, if they were all going to dance, then he must too! He got up from the ground, already caught up in the music. He wasn't sure of the song's words, so he hummed and clapped, hopping towards his whirling parents.  
  
"Ah, here is the only 'Green-leaf' left in the forest tonight!" Thranduil caught sight of his younger son skipping around. Laughing, he picked the child up, glad he hadn't gotten lost in the crowd.  
  
As his parents twirled through the steps of another dance, Legolas felt the air rush past him and the bounce of his father's steps. He continued to clap, listening to the voices of the people gathered in the forest. He heard something else too, other voices, also singing. Was that the trees? Yes! The trees were singing, not the same song, but one that seemed to flow with that of the elves. He let the music fill his head, delighted.  
  
Thilómë smiled, putting her hands together in the air above her head. Her sons, not to mention her husband, were certainly enjoying themselves. She glanced over at Aldandil, prancing and laughing with a circle of young elves. Legolas was still wide awake, his eyes sparkling. Sparkling? She paused a moment, looking harder. Yes, the child was absolutely shining.  
  
"Is something the matter?" Thranduil had noticed his wife's break, and it was strange for Thilómë to miss a step.  
  
A pleasant, musical laugh filled the air as Thilómë tipped her head back with a smile, "No, everything is wonderful!"  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
The evening had been more excellent than Thranduil expected it to be. His people had enjoyed themselves thoroughly, thrilled with the opportunity to feast, celebrate, and revel in the forest. And this was only the first of many nights! He put an arm around his wife's shoulders as they walked across the stone bridge over the Forest River on their way back to the palace. It was so good to see her enjoy herself so much. When was the last time he had seen her so happy? Why, tonight she had danced far into the night, and she had even laughed. Not her usual quiet laugh, but a now rare, long, light vibration that reminded him of silver bells.  
  
How he loved that sound! It had caught his attention so many years ago, when he had returned home, depressed and tired. Yes, the Last Alliance had been successful and Sauron had been overthrown, but not without a price. Gil-galad, high king of the Noldor, was dead; Elendil, king of Men, was dead; and Oropher, king of Greenwood the Great, was also dead. His father.  
  
Taking up his father's position had not been easy, but the task couldn't be avoided. The days, not to mention the nights, had been long and purposeless. His only comfort was the wood, the voices of the trees, the sweet forest air. And then there was Thilómë.  
  
He had caught that sparkle at dusk one night, her silver hair catching the moonlight as she walked along the edge of the river. Surprised, he had asked why she was out so late.  
  
"The river is so still tonight," she had responded, "And the stars never look as beautiful as they do reflected in the water." He had glanced into the water then, and she was right, the wavery bits of light had a particular appeal. He had seen, also, her reflection, framed with those stars. It seemed as though he had never beheld anything so lovely before. He told her so.  
  
And then she had laughed. He wasn't sure why, but the sound was just as beautiful as the stars, as her reflection, as the love that he started feeling for her.  
He looked into the water again now, and there were the stars, their reflections glimmering. Funny, the river was hardly ever this still. 


	7. Court Amusement

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: This is a very short chapter, but I've updated sooner than expected. Legolas appeared on my daily calendar this morning, so I figured I'd update in honor of that.  
  
This story is rated for angst, which is over for the most part. This is another "G" chapter.  
  
Many repeated thank-you's go to Sammy, Galadriel Lorien, Antigone, Queen of Shadows, and Dragon-of-the-North for their reviews on Ch. 6. I simply adore reading all of your comments! Keep them coming! And the rest of you who are reading (and I know you're out there): I'd love to hear from you too!  
  
Galadriel: No water here, maybe later. Glad you like it!  
  
Dragon: I'm so happy that you like my OCs! I didn't want them to seem overly perfect or shallow...am I doing all right?  
  
Everyone else: No, I won't kill Thilómë. You can all breathe again.  
  
Your reviews, comments, and questions are always welcome!  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Aldandil walked down the hallway, singing to himself and fingering his bow. Fall Feasting had ended a week ago, but the woods were still beautiful. He had spent the day riding through the trees with a hunting party, enjoying the falling scarlet and golden leaves. It had been an excellent day, and he had been reluctant to leave the forest. He'd be stuck inside tomorrow, sitting in on the court with his parents. Still humming, he passed their room, surprised to hear their voices.  
  
Stopping, Aldandil shouldered his bow. Since they were there, he might as well say good night.  
  
"...avoiding it, but it's getting harder," he heard his mother's voice as he pressed his hand to the door.  
  
Aldandil stepped back, not sure he should intrude. His father's voice answered, soft and concerned, "I won't hinder you, Thilómë."  
  
"No, I cannot," Naneth sounded tired, but defiant, "I..I cannot. Not yet." Disturbed, Aldandil decided to leave them alone. Whatever they were talking about was not meant for his ears, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it anyway.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thranduil took a quick sideways glance towards his sons. It was quite obvious that neither of them wanted to be there. Aldandil sat straight and stoical in his chair, staring at some spot on the wall behind the elf speaking. He certainly looked stately, draped in flowing dark brown robes, a silver circlet on his silver head; but it was clear that he was bored. Hah! Thranduil himself was bored. He shifted his eyes to Legolas. After nearly falling face down in his cereal this morning, the elfling was more awake and appeared to be busying himself with trying to stare at the end of his nose. Thranduil sighed inwardly. There was nothing like having a cross- eyed child in the middle of court.  
  
Aldandil looked from the wall to the speaker, then back to the wall. He wasn't really interested in whatever the elf was talking about. The snatches of conversation he'd overheard last night had been plaguing his mind, although he'd tried to dismiss them. What was weighing so heavily on Naneth? He would have to ask her. It was probably nothing, but it would be a relief to have her tell him so.  
  
Legolas concentrated, oblivious to everything going on around him. The tip of his nose had to be there somewhere...he just couldn't see it. Frustrated, he relaxed his eyes and brought his hands to his face. Yes, there it was. Keeping a finger on it, he looked down again. There was his finger, but no nose. This was certainly irritating! How was he supposed to lick his nose if he couldn't even see it?  
  
Thilómë listened patiently to the elf speaking. She didn't sit in on court often, but every so often it became a family affair. Besides, this was a messenger from Imladris, and she had a few important questions to ask him. She took a moment to check on Legolas. What was he doing?  
  
Aldandil had a hard time restraining himself from smiling, much less bursting out in laughter. Legolas sat in the chair next to him, in a rather undignified position, his tongue stretched out and curling up towards his nose. If that wasn't bad enough, the elfling's eyes were about as crossed as they could get.  
  
Where was it?! Legolas shifted in his chair, trying to get a better view. Utterly annoyed, he pressed the end of his nose down with his finger. Ah, success at long last!  
  
"Legolas," Aldandil hissed, still trying to contain his amusement. It was his fault, after all, that this was happening. He'd only mentioned it at breakfast. Giving his brother a slight warning look, Aldandil glanced around the room. The eyes of more than one counselor were on Legolas, who hadn't gotten the hint.  
  
"King Thranduil?" the elf who was speaking suddenly stopped in the middle of his address, "What exactly is your son doing?"  
  
All eyes were immediately riveted on a very small blond elf turned sideways in a very large chair.  
  
Thranduil shook his head, tapping his fingers on his oaken staff. He finally met the eyes of the visiting elf, "He got porridge on his face this morning. We must have missed a spot." 


	8. Choices

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: I'm so glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter so much! I'm afraid this one isn't very amusing, but I promise Legolas's innocent antics will be back.  
  
Rated for angst. This chapter is "PG".  
  
Everyone's reviews have been especially helpful, and this time around I'd like to thank you all personally:  
  
Katherine: Glad he's making you melt---that's what I'm going for!  
  
Esgalromen: Yes, Legolas cross-eyed. The picture in my head was hilarious too.  
  
Dragon-of-the-north: I really enjoy your long reviews. You are quite right; all of those things have been overdone, which is why I have been agonizing over my plot lines lately. Glad you like my humor and characters so much!  
  
daw: Glad you like the family relationships. I've read too many fics were Legolas's whole family seems shallow, completely dysfunctional, or guilt- ridden. I wanted to try something a little different.  
  
Queen of Shadows: Like Dragon, you've been messing with my plot lines! (This is a good thing.) I'm glad you like Legolas---I wanted a version that everyone just wants to run after and scoop right up.  
  
Sammy: Glad you thought the chapter was so cute!  
  
Galadriel Lorien: Yes, yes, he was on my calendar. Of course, Galadriel was on there yesterday though. Keep enjoying yourself!  
  
EMerald Queen: Do you mean when Thilómë notices Legolas "absolutely shining"? No, she's not worried about that. It was just a way of saying that he looked very happy: sparkling eyes, radiant smile. By the way, I'll be looking forward to that nice, long review!  
  
Susan: Glad you thought the chapter was so funny. I'll be sure to add some more mild, completely believable humor later on.  
  
Boy, I sure use the word "glad" a lot! I suppose I watched "Pollyanna" too often as a child!  
  
~*~  
  
Now, to all of you who are so concerned about Thilómë: It has become very apparent that nobody wants me to kill, banish, fade, or deport her. I'm not going to reveal any plot lines, but there is something that Bilbo himself said about books that should make everyone feel a little better (which I shall apply to this fic.). If anyone knows what he said, they can have Legolas's leftover breakfast (does anyone actually want a bowl of barely touched porridge with soggy blackberries?). If not, I'll be sure to put the quote in my author's notes next time.  
  
Also, I did an illustration for Chapter 5, but my scanner software is all installed on a computer that is completely disassembled on my living room floor. My laptop doesn't want to cooperate. As soon as I get the bugs worked out, I'll put it up for you all to see!  
  
As always, I love reading everyone's reviews (I was thrilled to get so many on the last chapter!) and can't wait for more. Your questions and comments are always welcome.  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Chapter 8~*~Choices  
  
Thilómë pressed the tips of her fingers together, concentrating on how to word her questions. Now that the moment had come, the words were difficult to find. Still focused on her hands, she finally broke the silence in the room, "When do they leave?"  
  
"In late Spring," Galdor, the visitor from Imladris, responded. He was really from the Grey Havens, but had traveled to Mirkwood after an extended stay in Rivendell. He was having a difficult time with this conversation. Usually his answers on this topic came easily, happily, but it seemed as though the King and Queen of Northern Mirkwood didn't seek them out of desire, but necessity.  
  
Thilómë looked to her husband, pained, "That's too soon." She turned back to Galdor, "When else?"  
  
"Just Spring," Galdor stated.  
  
Thranduil could tell his wife was wrestling with the decision; it was quite evident on her face. How he longed to make it for her! But he could not. He never could have. He would have taken himself into account too much, and that might not be best.  
  
Thilómë dropped her face into her hands. This was too much. The options, the decisions, the awful tired feeling eating away at her. Drawing in a deep breath, she shakily asked Galdor, "And when do they come back?"  
  
"Come back?" Galdor raised his eyebrows, surprised. What could she possibly mean?  
  
"Yes," Thilómë straightened a little, again pressing her fingers together, "When do they come back here?"  
  
Was she serious? Judging by the look in the Elven-Queen's eyes, she was very sincere indeed. Galdor decided to be frank, "They don't. They never come back."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Aldandil stretched, waking up. When had he fallen asleep? Glancing around, he remembered. He had been reading Legolas a story. A long, boring story. It must have been so boring, in fact, that he had put himself to sleep.  
  
Legolas was still on his lap, sound asleep and wrapped in his favorite blanket. Looking down at his brother, Aldandil decided it would be easier just to stay in the chair than to put the elfling to bed. If Legolas woke up, he'd be sure to immediately search out Adar and Naneth, who were still talking to that messenger from Imladris. Aldandil sighed, reaching for the throw on the back of his chair. What they found so interesting about the visitor was beyond him. He spread the blanket over Legolas and himself, settling back. It was certainly a good thing that his brother slept as motionlessly as a tree, instead of like a branch tossed in the wind.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thranduil walked through the sitting room on his way to check in on his sons. There they were, settled in one of the large, overstuffed chairs, both sleeping soundly. Why hadn't they gone to bed? Shaking his head with a weak smile, he picked up a heavy quilt from another chair, unfolded it, and arranged it over his children. Legolas shifted slightly under the added weight. Thranduil rubbed the child's back, noticing his eyes were closed. He worried about that little one sometimes. It was difficult, raising such a child; to not measure him against his brother, to look past the current obstacles to the future. Still, Legolas had his moments, lots of them. The little episode in court during the day had been one of them. Thranduil would have laughed at the memory if he hadn't been feeling so melancholy.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"He was doing it again," Thranduil walked into his room, shrugging off his formal outer robe.  
  
Thilómë was already in bed, sitting up and working on some kind of embroidery. She tried to sound interested, "Who was doing what again?"  
  
"Legolas. Sleeping with his eyes closed," Thranduil searched around for his nightclothes. There were so many clothes in the room, and even after many years, he could never remember where everything was kept.  
  
"He does that when he's exhausted," Thilómë tried to come up with a reasonable explanation, "Aldandil must have worn him out today."  
  
Thranduil nodded, pulling a garment over his head, "You had yours closed last night."  
  
"I did?" Thilómë set her work on the floor, contemplating on whether or not to venture into the subject. The conversation with Galdor today had already been enough, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about it again.  
  
"Yes," Thranduil looked at her, and it was quite obvious that he wanted to talk, even if she didn't. He sat down on the bed next to her, still holding her gaze.  
  
Thilómë looked away, already feeling the conflicting emotions rising up within her. When she opened her mouth to speak, the words came sob-tainted, "I'm so weary, Thranduil, it's as though my spirit's been drained out." Letting her husband gather her into his arms, she continued, "I remember my love for the trees, the stars; but I don't feel it anymore. I want to, but it never comes. It's not in me anymore; it hasn't been for a long time." She drew in a shaky breath as Thranduil rubbed her back in circles, "Something in my pulls, wants to leave, wants to go somewhere where I can feel all those things again, where everything will come back."  
  
"Mmmm," Thranduil couldn't think of anything comforting to say. He never could, not in this situation. All he could think of were the promises he'd made, hundreds of promises. 'Forever and a day,' he'd said, when she'd asked how long they'd be together. Forever and a day.  
  
Thilómë paused a while, trying to quiet herself. What she had to say next could never come out calmly though, "I don't want to leave though! I don't want to go to Valinor! No matter how hard the pull comes, I don't want to go." She raised her head to look into Thranduil's eyes, knowing her own were desperate and watery, "I love you, I love our sons. I don't want to leave you."  
  
"I know," Thranduil pulled her closer, fighting the urge to tell her to stay. It was her decision, not his. He had reminded himself of that so many times, too many times.  
  
"It was horrible enough before," Thilómë was beginning to sound not only depressed, but angry, "The thought of leaving you all for even a few years. But now I've found out that I can never come back! I shouldn't have been so naive, to think I could return." She gripped her husband's shoulders and buried her face in his chest, "It would be like dying." 


	9. Fire and Water

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: There are a few lines of Sindarin used at the end of chapter, but I'm sure the grammar is completely horrendous. If you cannot stand mutilated Sindarin, skip straight to the translation, which follows shortly after. Also, my italics aren't showing up on the fanfic website--- sorry.  
  
Rated for angst. This chapter is G/PG.  
  
And now to my reviewers! Thank you all so much for responding. I have found that the longer I wait between updates, the more reviews I get...hmmm...perhaps I should wait a week or so before posting Chapter 10?  
  
*Esgalromen: Here's the update, there is more Legolas in this chapter, of course.  
  
*Dragon-of-the-north: One of the best fanfic spouses Thranduil's ever been given? Thank-you! And yes, I suppose Thranduil's untidy...nobody's perfect!  
  
You were thinking of the right quote, but don't feel that you must "bury [your] nose in Legolas' breakfast.." Have his spoon too! Or better yet, sit in on today's breakfast!  
  
*EMerald QUeen: Mmm! Excellent cookie! *wipes crumbs from face* Glad you like Aldandil and Legolas so much.  
  
The story: Legolas picked it out. He can't read very well yet, so he didn't bother to check the title. Aldandil suggested something better, but the kid insisted on "The History and Development of the Tengwar". Definitely long and boring.  
  
Elves headed to Valinor: Since my story takes place around TA 1200, the Hollin Elves have already left (if I'm correct, they left shortly after the forging of the One Ring---do correct me if I'm wrong). I haven't picked a specific group of Elves for Thilómë to travel with. Since the Elves began to wane and leave in the Third Age, I figured there would be a group leaving every now and then.  
  
As for Thilómë's choice, it's quite complicated really. She does feel empty, but her view on departing for the West is different than, say, Galadriel's or Elrond's. I suppose you could liken it to the way a person who believes in a good afterlife views death: the afterlife might be great, but you're in no hurry to get there. As for the fact that they'll probably all meet again, keep in mind that there would most likely be a gap of a few thousand years. That's quite a long time, even for an Elf. Also, she has a very young child---one that she thought she was going to lose.  
  
*Sammy: Here's some more fic for you. Eat up.  
  
*Katherine: I hope your keyboard isn't permanently damaged! *hands her a tissue* Now, now...this chapter isn't quite so miserable!  
  
*Galadriel Lorien: Celebrían doesn't leave until TA 2510, which would be a little late. At the time of my story, Elrond and Celebrían are still quite happy together! There's a note to EMerald QUeen about the Elves that are traveling. I'm glad you liked the chapter; hopefully this one will be just as good.  
  
*Queen of Shadows: *hands her a tissue too* Settle down, honey...Legolas's momma's still in the decision making stage...  
  
~*~~*~  
  
Bilbo's Quote: "Books ought to have good endings." Book II: Chapter 3.  
  
Remember, I have developed a love for reviews! Your questions and comments are always welcome!  
  
-Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Chapter 9~*~Fire and Water  
  
Thilómë lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Thranduil had gotten up almost an hour earlier, asking patiently if she wanted him to stay. She had waved him away, knowing there was an important breakfast being held before Galdor's departure, but now she wished that he was near.  
  
How many mornings had she woken to find him next to her, sometimes still asleep, other times awake, smiling at her? And those good morning kisses! It was as though he had slipped into her dreams, and when she came into full consciousness, he was still right there!  
  
What would it be like to wake up alone? It had happened, when Thranduil had to travel for diplomatic reasons, or when she herself went visiting. It was lonely...but to wake up that way every morning, for days on end?  
  
Sighing, Thilómë rolled over, pulling her husband's pillow to her face. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of his hair. Could the smell of the Sea or the fragrance of all the flowers of Aman ever take its place?  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thranduil walked swiftly into the sitting room, already in a hurry. He had lingered too long in the bedroom, worrying about his wife, and now he was running late for breakfast. Why had they planned to have a fancy breakfast? It practically ruined the whole day. He shook Aldandil's shoulder, surprised his son wasn't awake already, "Aldandil. Wake up."  
  
"Hmm?" Aldandil blinked his eyes, focusing them. Sunlight streamed in through the glass of the west wall. This was positively his favorite room in the whole palace, the only one with large windows. A section of the cavern wall had been carefully removed and replaced with glass and wooden framework, allowing a beautiful view of the forest.  
  
"You've slept late," Thranduil gave his son a slight disapproving look, "I'm having breakfast, come and join me after you're dressed." He looked down at Legolas, who was still asleep, "And please get your brother dressed too, all right? Your mother will probably join us rather late."  
  
"Of course," Aldandil nodded, "Is Naneth all right?"  
  
Thranduil drew in a long breath of air, glancing out at the sunlit trees outside. After a moment he looked back to his son, "She's been feeling very strained lately, and Lord Galdor's visit has not helped. Don't be concerned, we can talk later." Realizing breakfast would begin in minutes; he gave Aldandil a quick smile and headed out of the room, "I'll see you in a while."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Pushing away the blankets, Aldandil lifted Legolas off of his lap. "Awake! Awake!" he sang, rising to his feet.  
  
"No!" Legolas whined, sliding onto the pile of blankets on the floor. Mornings were not his favorite part of the day. He grabbed at the blankets, pulling them over himself.  
  
Laughing, Aldandil picked his brother up, "Someday you'll be taunting those words in someone's ears too, muindor."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Nursemaids! That's what they needed for times like these. Aldandil dug through the garments, bedclothes, and blankets folded on a shelf. He glanced at Legolas, who was half awake, "Where does Naneth keep all your normal clothes?" A nursemaid would know. A nursemaid would know this room inside out. If only Naneth wasn't so adamantly objected to such people.  
  
Getting no answer, he looked at his little brother again. Legolas was practically asleep again. Aldandil took a few overly high steps towards him, raising and curling his hands in mock ferocity, "Legolas! I'm a Balrog, and I'm coming to get you!" The story of Glorfindal and the Balrog was one of Legolas's current favorites, although the Elfling preferred to drastically change the ending to his own liking. Aldandil took a few more exaggerated steps towards his brother, mildly growling. He wasn't sure if balrogs growled or not, but that was beside the point.  
  
As fast as lightening, Legolas snapped to attention. Sleepy or not, balrogs had to be avoided at all costs. He slid from his bed to the floor, dashing out of the room half-dressed and screaming.  
  
"Legolas!" Aldandil rushed behind him, "No shrieking!"  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"...lovely in late summer," Galdor raised a glass of juice to his lips. He glanced at the numerous faces gathered at the table, aware that no one seemed very interested in hearing about his visit to Imladris. He was glad to be leaving Mirkwood in a few hours. The whole place seemed to be turned on its head: the queen was despairing, the king had absolutely no interest in the Imladris tidings, and their children seemed...hmm? Well, they certainly didn't seem royal, that was for sure. Also, he found their strange dismay in the topic of traveling to the Blessed Realm positively insulting.  
  
"I'm sure of it," Thranduil nodded absently. How much longer was this breakfast going to drag on? Thilómë hadn't shown up at all, not even to wish Galdor a parting farewell; and he was getting a bit anxious to check on her.  
  
Galdor, realizing he had the attention of a few court members at the table, decided to go on, "Yes, Lord Elrond has some fantastic gardens. Beautiful flowers, some I did not even recognize. And most of them last the whole.."  
  
"Ai! ai! A balrog! A balrog!" Legolas tore into the room, eyes wide, headed straight for his father, "Ada! He's going to get me!"  
  
Galdor looked up from his glass of juice to see Thranduil's younger son running frantically, a flash of white undergarments and blond hair. His eyebrows rose nearly halfway up his forehead. First the episode in court, and now this! How much more of this would he have to endure?  
  
Only seconds behind his brother, Aldandil skidded to a stop when he reached the dining hall. The table was surrounded by important looking Elves, and a lavish breakfast was spread out. What on Middle-Earth were they all doing there?!  
  
Thranduil caught his younger son, then sighed, looking up towards his older son, "Aldandil."  
  
Aldandil looked from person to person, realizing that they were all staring at him, waiting for an explanation. He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to think of a decent apology, "I'm quite sorry." He caught Lord Galdor's scrutinizing gaze, and wished he had some of his father's wit, "I was completely unaware that you were all gathered here." What kind of excuse was that? Legolas had just charged into the room in his unmentionables screaming about a Balrog. It was rather funny, really. Aldandil recalled the shocked expressions on everyone's faces and felt his mouth contorting into a smile. He covered his grin with a hand, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, forgive me. It was a careless mistake, and I am completely at fault." He rambled through a few other self-demeaning comments, blaming himself and relating the circumstances.  
  
"All right," Thranduil held up his hand, managing to keep quite a straight face, "That should suffice. Now, please, take your brother back to his room. It will not be necessary to grace us with your presences again."  
  
Galdor nearly snorted, watching as King Thranduil draped his small child in a counselor's wrap and handed him to his older (and quite obviously irresponsible!) son. Woodland Elves indeed! It would be quite a relief to get back to Imladris.  
  
"Legolas!" the Elf who had provided his wrap called out as Aldandil carried the Elfling out of the hall, "Sing us a quick song about your Balrog before you go. Then perhaps Lord Galdor will forgive you for interrupting his special breakfast."  
  
The little Elf looked around at all the people at the table. The reality of what he had just done had started to sink in, and he was beginning to feel rather embarrassed.  
  
"Go on," Aldandil whispered in his brother's ear.  
  
Legolas sucked on a few of his fingers, wondering what to sing. All he could remember of the Balrog song was that it contained the word 'Balrog'. After another slight jar from Aldandil, he opened his mouth:  
Daer Balrog na adel anim!  
  
Tua amin! Tua amin!  
  
Ta na um! Ta na naurui!  
  
Tua amin, Ada!  
  
Sin a nen an lle! Nen o sîr.  
  
Ta na mesc! Namaarie Balrog!  
  
Singing the last line, Legolas waved slightly, adding an action to his song.  
  
"Would tossing water on a Balrog actually work?" one of Thranduil's counselors raised an eyebrow.  
  
Thranduil shrugged, picturing a dripping wet Aldandil, "It would work on his Balrog."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Translation:  
  
A great Balrog is behind me!  
  
Help me! Help me!  
  
It is evil! It is fiery!  
  
Help me, Daddy!  
  
Here is water for you! Water from the river.  
  
It is wet! Farewell Balrog!  
  
(Not very good, I know...but keep in mind that the equivalent of a 4 year old made it up off of the top of his head.) 


	10. The Choice is Made

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Quite a lot this time! First of all, the illustration is available. Because the address is so long, and I have mistyped it multiple times, the link is not here but on my profile page. Like this fic, anything Tolkien-ish is Tolkien's, but the original artwork is mine. The color is not the best, but I personally feel that it turned out halfway decent!  
  
Also, this could be the end of the story...but it feels unfinished. What do you all think? Let me know, all right? I'm thinking that since this chapter is sort of melancholy, we'll need another rolling on the floor Legolas moment at least.  
  
And now to the reviews! Many repeated thanks to you all!  
  
*Queen of Shadows: So you're not a morning person either? So happy you liked the chapter.  
  
*Katherine: Yes...only a child would toss water on a Balrog. Thank you for the comment on my writing style! That is so kind!  
  
*Dragon-of-the-north: I'm always so excited to read your reviews! The very best brother, huh? I didn't expect to portray my characters that well!  
  
I enjoy giving Thranduil smart things to say---if Elrond can be interesting, so can he!  
  
So glad you enjoyed yourself at the breakfast. Yes, I'm sure Galdor would have looked right down his nose at you had you eaten porridge without a spoon. : )  
  
*Esgalromen: Yeah, Galdor is pretty sophisticated. Rules and proper ways to do stuff. It hasn't taken me a full week to update...  
  
*daw: Very happy that you liked the chapter. Thank you for the comment on Thranduil's caring for his wife---so glad it's appreciated.  
  
*Bean02: Thrilled that you think my writing is so enjoyable to read. I try! : ) *sticks gold star on own forehead* Thank you!  
  
*EMerald QUeen: It's okay if you don't like Galdor...he's leaving. "Stupid Elf"-LOL! Mmmm, tasty cookie. Protect them from the muses!  
  
*Da MuSHRoom PRiNCeSS: Yes! I've snagged another reviewer! Thank you for reading (and reviewing!).  
  
*Galadriel Lorien: Yes...my limited knowledge of Sindarin forced me to compose a fairly childish song. Good thing Legolas sang it and not me (it would have been mutilated even further!).  
  
~*~  
  
Rated for angst in the first few chapters.  
  
I'm very happy that everyone thinks little Legolas is so cute!  
  
Also, it is so touching that you all feel so bad for poor Thilómë. We seem to like Elf-angst...maybe so we can all feel horrible for them!  
  
Do keep reviewing! Your wonderful reviews have bred a Gollum-y kind of desire in me for more! (Not a love-hate desire, as for the Ring, but a love- love one, as for juicy sweet fish!).  
  
Questions and comments are always welcome!  
  
---Aranel  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Chapter 10~*~The Choice is Made  
  
Legolas ran to the windows in the sitting room, pressing his hands against the glass. The rain struck the carefully cut plates, collecting and making a whole map of tiny running rivers. The Elfling drew his hands back after a moment, rubbing them together, "It's cold!"  
  
"Of course it is," Aldandil strode to the window, looking out. Already the ground and trees were wet, shiny with an icy sheen, "It's so cold that the rain is freezing. Lord Galdor shouldn't be happy with that."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Lord Galdor, in fact, was quite upset with the rain. He had gotten no more than an hour into his journey when down it poured, eventually freezing on his horse, his companions, and himself. He pulled the hood of his cloak closer, trying to fend off the wind and rain. Oh, to get back to Imladris, and then the Havens! Galdor wiped his chilled, wet nose, "Wretched weather!"  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Heading to the sitting room, Thilómë could hear the downpour. She glanced at Thranduil, walking along beside her. His step was long and even, and he seemed to be deep in thought about something. "Do you really think we should tell him?" she caught his gaze.  
  
"He already knows that something isn't right," Thranduil nodded slightly, "He can read it in us."  
  
Thilómë paused at the entryway to the sitting room, looking at her sons. They stood near the windows, Aldandil pointing things out to his younger brother. How many times had she sat on that bench with them, listening to their stories, answering their questions? If she left, there would be only memories...she would not hear their voices again, enjoy their new tales. She stepped over to the bench now, smoothing her dress and sitting down.  
  
"Nana!" Legolas turned and skipped over to her, then attempted to pull himself onto her lap, "There was a bird, a red one! I saw it."  
  
"Oh?" Thilómë lifted him up. How much effort should it take to pick up a child? Her arms ached, but she smiled, "I heard that you had a little adventure this morning."  
  
Legolas glanced towards the windows, putting a finger to his mouth, "Yes."  
  
"Next time you run away from a Balrog, maybe you'll wear more clothes," Thilómë turned his face towards her.  
  
Her son nodded absently, then turned to her with an amused grin, "But Nana, Balrogs are hot."  
  
Thilómë managed a short laugh, then turned towards her older child, "Aldandil, there's something I want to speak with you about."  
  
Had the incident this morning really been so awful? Aldandil sighed, and then sat down in a chair across from his mother. When his father took a place near her, Aldandil got genuinely worried. Their main form of punishment had always been lectures...long, guilt-inspiring lectures, ever since he had been little. Just how long would this one last? He could already hear himself promising never to chase Legolas again, to dutifully teach his brother restraint and self-discipline, and to never get him into any kind of embarrassing situations again.  
  
After prompting Legolas to go and play on the floor, Thilómë turned to Aldandil. How should she start? "Aldandil, I have a difficult choice to make," she stared at her son for a moment. How tall he had grown! Looking at him, she remembered pulling him into her arms when he was small, having him near to her. When had she last held him close? Reminding herself of her purpose, Thilómë went on, "I've been very tired...Middle-Earth holds little joy for me now. I must decide between going into the West, or remaining here, with you."  
  
What had she said? Aldandil gaped at his mother, then instinctively closed his mouth. It was true; ever since Legolas's birth she had seemed...well, apathetic to the trees, the flowers, even the stars. But to leave? He shifted in his chair, "Go? What will that do?"  
  
"There is peace and rest in Aman," Thranduil responded evenly, "Her spirit would have respite and content there."  
  
It seemed to make sense, and yet it didn't. Aldandil kept silent, trying to piece it all together logically in his head. Yes, his mother deserved to be at peace. She was weary, as she had said, and he knew of her love for the green things that she no longer felt close to. Still, another part of him argued that she should stay. Why? It was a combination of things: there was the closeness between his parents...a future without her nearby...he would miss her terribly..and..and..Aldandil started at the thought, "What about Legolas?"  
  
At his name, the Elfling looked up from where he was playing. He hadn't paid attention to any of the conversation, but his brother sounded so concerned that he cocked his head to the side, "What?"  
  
A stream of thoughts had filled Aldandil's mind though, and he sat straight in his chair, staring at his parents. Certainly they had considered this. He glanced quickly at Legolas, then back to them, "You wouldn't take him with you, would you?"  
  
Thilómë's brow wrinkled in confusion, "Why would I? I would prefer to go and take you all with me, but it isn't your time. There are still too many things for you here."  
  
"Haven't you thought about what it would do to him?" Aldandil tried to contain his frustration. They hadn't even thought about it! Had it even entered their minds?  
  
Thranduil laid a hand on his son's shoulder, attempting to calm him, "Of course we've thought about it. I'd expect him to be no less upset than you or I. This is difficult for all of us, but we must think of what is best for your mother..."  
  
"That isn't it!" Aldandil interrupted, looking towards his brother again. Legolas was staring at the three of them wide-eyed. Although the argument was fairly quiet, he had rarely seen them dispute, and never over him. Aldandil turned back to his parents, still upset but quieter, "He's not strong enough yet! Naneth, his spirit is still weak. Will it get weaker? How will he grow? What will it do to him?"  
  
The questions pulled at something in Thilómë. She had considered the effects of her leaving on her family, many times over. Yes, they would be upset for awhile, but she hadn't considered Legolas's spirit. Instead of answering, she held out her arms to her younger son, "Come here, Legolas."  
  
Legolas was glad to be back in his mother's comforting embrace. He was rather worried, although he wasn't quite sure why. He looked up at her, "Nana, what's wrong?"  
  
Thilómë gave the little one a sad smile. How would she tell him? She ran a hand over his head, "Legolas, do you remember Eärendil?"  
  
"Yes!" he perked up, suddenly happier. Eärendil was a good thing, the star. If Nana was going to talk about a star, everything would be all right. He smiled, "In the boat, up in the sky. With the shiny...rock on his head, for a star."  
  
"Silmaril, yes," Thilómë nodded, "Legolas, I am thinking about taking a trip like Eärendil."  
  
"In a big boat?" Legolas got excited. Nana would ride in a big boat! "Are we all going to go?"  
  
"No," Thilómë shook her head, "Just me."  
  
"Oh," there was a tinge of disappointment in Legolas's voice, and he looked away from her, "I guess that would be all right."  
  
"Legolas, do you remember what I told you about Eärendil though?" Thilómë waited for an answer, but only got a blank look. She forced the words to come, "Legolas, Eärendil could never..."  
  
Never come back! Which meant...  
  
"No!" Legolas pushed himself far back enough to see his mother's face, "No, Nana!" As hot, runny tears filled his eyes, he pushed his face into her shoulder, repeating the words.  
  
Thilómë rubbed her son's back in a circle, ignoring the tears gathering under her own eyes. She looked towards her husband. Thranduil's face was a complicated web of uneasiness. She could see his concern for Legolas, but his worry for her was still obvious. When she glanced at Aldandil, the young Elf was staring at the wall, distressed.  
  
Thranduil laid a hand on his wife's arm, speaking softly, "It's still your decision. In time, we would all be alright. Only you know what is best for yourself."  
  
"No," Thilómë managed to smile at her husband, and she leaned towards him, brushing her fingertips across the side of his face, "The decision is made. It has been as I have always felt. I can't leave."  
  
"You're doing this for us," Thranduil protested, taking her hand.  
  
"I'm doing it for myself," Thilómë felt her husband's fingers wrapping around her own, "How could I leave if thoughts of you all would always follow me? There may be peace in Aman, but is there love?" 


	11. Joy, Devotion, Love

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters, places, concepts, and events are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, everyone, I have realized that for some of you Chap. 10 may have constituted a 'happy ending', but it doesn't seem to quite match up with Old Bilbo's quote. I mean, sure, it may have been happy to have Thranduil and Thilómë sharing a tender moment, but Aldandil and Legolas sure weren't happy! Therefore, I have added another chapter.  
  
This shall be the end of "Light of Sons", but due to several reasons (i.e., I enjoy writing, I have an unending appetite for reviews, and we all still need our hilarious Legolas moment), the saga shall continue. I have not come up with a title for the sequel yet, so just look for my name.  
  
There were only a few reviews on Ch. 10 (Either you all hated it, or the update wasn't displayed on the Just In page), but I'd love to thank those who did review! Also, if you missed Chap. 10 and want to review it...go ahead. *tries to give everyone a persuasive look, but miserably fails* I will add any responses to this list (below) if they come in.  
  
*Dragon-of-the-north: Your reviews are most definitely the best! And two this time! Your comments on all of the characters were so much fun to read. Thank you also for the comments on my picture. I don't know if I'll do anymore---depends on how hard writer's block hits the next time around. : )  
  
Also, thank you for your suggestion on the continuation of the story. If it's all right with you, I may build around that.  
  
*Esgalromen: It was going to be the end, but I have changed my mind (I do that quite often) and written more, a new end!  
  
*Queen of Shadows: She's not leaving! *hops around in a circle, singing* And here is a little more.  
  
~*~  
  
Rated for angst, which is over.  
  
Sindarin:  
  
Amin mela lle = I love you  
  
Diola lle = Thank you.  
  
Responses to Ch. 11 reviews will be available in the first chapter of the sequel.  
  
Do review! Please! *gets into begging position (looks pathetic), fusses a little while, gets up* Forget that, I could just threaten to cut the sequel for lack of interest!  
  
Anyway, tell me what you enjoyed most, so I can be sure to include similar things in my later writings (i.e., do you hate angst, love humor, wish Legolas wouldn't fall asleep so much, etc.)  
  
Your questions and comments are always welcome!  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Chapter 11~*~Joy, Devotion, Love  
  
Thilómë pulled back the layers of coverlets and spreads, sliding between the soft sheets of her bed. She eased herself down onto the feather pillows, pulling the blankets up. Today had been difficult, trying. She sighed, rolling onto her side to look at her husband.  
  
Hearing his wife's movements, Thranduil shifted to face her. He pushed himself up on his elbow, whispering, "Do you know how wonderful it is to have you here with me?"  
  
Thilómë smiled slightly, "I thought you'd like this big bed all to yourself."  
  
"No," Thranduil drew the word out, pushing strands of hair behind her ears, "Never. When you said you couldn't leave, those were some of the most beautiful words I'd ever heard." He brought his face closer to hers, smiling, "If our son's head hadn't been in the way, I would have kissed you."  
  
"You can kiss me now," Thilómë grinned, then allowed herself to be enveloped in the brief moment of passion. She had been afraid of such closeness recently..afraid, because she didn't want to leave it behind. She nestled herself in her husband's arms, enjoying the security more than the touch.  
  
Thranduil rubbed his hand along the length of his wife's arm, taking her soft fingers into his own. He had been so afraid of losing her, and the knowledge that she had chosen to stay with him made him treasure her even more. He took in the sight of her near him, seeming more content than she had been in a long time. "You said you're staying for love," he brought his lips close to her ear, "And you will get as much of it as you desire."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"...and see? Here is the picture I've been looking for," Thilómë held the book in front of her son, pointing, "Here is Eärendil, and that is the Silmaril on his head."  
  
"And the boat," Legolas traced his finger across the page, then looked up at his mother, his blue-grey eyes wide with concern, "And you aren't going on the boat?"  
  
"That's right," Thilómë nodded slowly. How many times had he asked her that question today? It was as though he had to be completely positive that she was not going to leave. She gave him a reassuring smile, "I'm staying right here."  
  
Legolas smiled back, returning to the book, "Good."  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Aldandil went from room to room, ducking into each one in search of his mother. Ah, there she was! He stepped into the sitting room, sliding into the chair he had taken yesterday afternoon. Today rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the floor and furniture. His mother sat reading in another chair, Legolas asleep on her lap.  
  
"Hello, Aldandil," Thilómë smiled, setting down her book. Her older son rarely searched her out anymore. She missed the days when he had followed her about, and cherished the occasional moments when he spoke with her. How good it was to have more time to enjoy those instances!  
  
"Hello," Aldandil seemed distracted. He tried to relax in his chair, "Naneth...I want to apologize for the things that I said. It wasn't considerate."  
  
"I wouldn't say that," Thilómë responded, "You were thinking of your brother, and that was considerate."  
  
Aldandil looked at Legolas, sound asleep in the sunlight. It was true; he had been concerned for his brother. He looked back at his mother, "Still, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking of you."  
  
Thilómë rested her chin on her hand, looking thoughtful, "I'm your mother, Aldandil. It's not your responsibility to think of me. This does not allow you to be selfish, or to disrespect me, but it frees you from worry for my well-being." She smiled, "You have a responsibility to your brother, and to the people of this land. You have done well, and shall continue to do so. I should be glad to see it." She searched her son's face. Thilómë had told him the truth, and yet he still looked discontented. She reached over and placed her hand on his arm, "What is it?"  
  
Aldandil hesitated before speaking, "You stay for Adar because you are close to him, and you stay for Legolas because he needs you, but..."  
  
"I stay for you because you bring me joy," Thilómë gave her son's arm a convincing press. When Aldandil looked at his mother's face, he saw a sparkle in her eyes and she wore a bright smile. She went on, "What do you think I feel when I see you? You've grown so tall, so strong. You are a good son, a good brother, a good Elf. You bring such joy to my heart, for there is a part of your father in you, and a part of me, and it has done so well."  
  
"Diola lle, Naneth," Aldandil rose to embrace his mother, "Amin mela lle."  
  
"Amin mela lle," Thilómë responded softly.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
Thilómë walked through the beeches, and onto the stone bridge. She traced her fingers along the leaf patterns etched into the rock, not really thinking about them. She set her elbows on the bridge's wall, staring out at the woods, her home, and finally the water running below her. It had slowed with the cold of the coming winter, and Thilómë caught the sight of the wavery lights of reflected stars. What had drawn her here? Not the stars themselves...Elbereth had not called to her in a long time.  
  
Sighing, Thilómë raised her eyes to the sky. The sight was beautiful, but she felt no connection, no reason to lift her voice to the stars. Her joy in, her devotion for, and her love from them were gone, save for memories. She stared at each pinprick in the tapestry of night, remembering. There had been a time when she felt compelled to look at them every evening, when the mere sight could put her at ease, when being under them made her heart soar and sing. Yes, she remembered, but the feelings were still gone.  
  
As she turned to go back to the palace, Thilómë tried to sing for the stars, but the words would not come. She stopped, sighing again. 'Why am I here?' she asked herself. But she already knew. Yes, she knew. She had said it herself, heard it, seen it, felt it. It was true that the stars no longer held her joy, devotion, or love. But that did not mean that she did not possess those things anymore.  
  
Aldandil was her joy, Legolas her devotion, and Thranduil her love. 


	12. Hello All!

Hello all! This is only an Author's Note (there is not another new end!). If you are like me, you track stories by their titles, not their authors. I only want to let those of you who have been searching know that the sequel is now available, and is titled "Ardent Shine the Stars".  
  
Come and read it! (And review it!)  
  
---Aranel  
  
aranels@hotmail.com 


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